Lorimer stood aside as one by one they passed him by. Dougie from the hotel gave him a nod but no smile. When there was only the minister by the grave side with the two old ladies, Lorimer strode across the clipped turf.
‘Miss MacLeod,’ he offered her his hand.
‘Ah,’ Mhairi MacLeod turned at the sound of his voice, then, seeing who it was, she gave him a sweet smile. ‘You came!’ she said. ‘I’m so glad.’
‘Yes.’
‘She’s at peace now, Mister Lorimer. Far from any harm the world can do to her. Safely home with her Saviour,’ she said. Her words carried such simple conviction that Lorimer felt immediately humbled. Here was an enduring faith that carried on from generation to generation.
‘And how are you?’ he asked.
‘Oh, I’m just biding here till it’s my time. Chrissie sees that I have everything I need, don’t you dear,’ she added, turning to the lady in black who was holding her arm.
‘Aye. But we should be going now. There will be tea in the hotel if you wish to join us, Chief Inspector,’ Chrissie told him.
‘Thank you, but no. I must get back to Stornoway for the return flight to Glasgow.’
‘You go ahead, Chrissie. Mister Lorimer and I will take a wee daunder along the path. It’s fine,’ she added seeing the other woman’s doubtful expression. ‘He’ll take my arm. Won’t you,’ she added, looking up into Lorimer’s eyes.
They did not speak until they reached a green painted bench that faced the sea and Lorimer had helped the old lady onto the seat.
‘Well, now. Are you going to tell me all about it or do I have to wait until the rumours and the papers mangle it up?’
Lorimer grinned at her and she returned with a smile of her own and patted his hand. ‘I may be old but I’m not afraid of the truth. Now, tell me everything that really happened.’
‘Tom Coutts was a patient at the Grange. He’d been receiving treatment for depression in the wake of his wife’s death. Kirsty had been one of Mrs Coutts’ nurses during her final illness.’
‘Yes, I remember Kirsty told me all about her. A right poor soul she was. Couldn’t do a thing for herself. Hard on the man, I’m sure.’
‘Yes,’ Lorimer replied. He couldn’t begin to imagine what kind of life Tom Coutts may have had, trying to care for a wife who had no sight and was completely paralysed. ‘So hard that he couldn’t endure her suffering.’ Lorimer told her gently. The man’s sobs rang in his ears as he recalled his confession; how he had smothered his wife with a pillow. Then a combination of guilt and paranoia had driven him to despair.
‘He took her life, then?’ Mhairi guessed.
‘Yes.’
‘And did Kirsty know?’
‘I thought you might tell me that,’ Lorimer replied. ‘The missing pages of her diary corresponded with the dates of Nan Coutts’ death and Kirsty’s resignation from her job.’
‘Aye,’ Mhairi MacLeod sighed. ‘I knew something was wrong, then, but she never told a soul, Chief Inspector. I promise you that.’
‘Dr Brightman thinks that those torn pages from Kirsty’s diary simply showed how much she wanted to obliterate the events from her mind. She was never a threat to Coutts. Still, he took fright when he met her again at the Grange. He couldn’t rid himself of the belief that Kirsty knew what he had done. So he had to kill her. He was really ill, you know.’
‘And the other woman? The nurse he killed in her own home?’
‘She was on duty the night Kirsty was killed. I think Tom Coutts was afraid she had seen him.’
Mhairi MacLeod shook her head sadly. ‘Such a waste,’ she sighed. ‘Such a terrible waste.’
Lorimer took her hand in his and felt its warmth. As they sat together in the midday sun the policeman felt strangely comforted by the old lady; her weight of years and greater wisdom a kind of solace to him.
‘He copied the methods of another killer,’ Lorimer began.
‘The flower and the praying hands. I remember.’
‘What puzzled us was how he knew exactly what that other man had done. Right down to the last detail. We hadn’t even worked it out at the end,’ he admitted.
‘And how had he found these things out?’
Lorimer shrugged. ‘Like most things, it was just too easy. Tom Coutts was in and out of the University even during his illness. He expressed an interest in the case. Even helped us with information about the clinic! What we didn’t know was that he had been in Dr Brightman’s office months before and had found that first forensic report. It was all there. Even down to the position of those praying hands.’
‘The poor man,’ she remarked. ‘To have suffered such guilt!’
Lorimer looked at her in surprise. Here was a large heart indeed that could feel for such a devious killer. Nothing excused the act of murder in his book, and never would.
‘And the woman in the clinic? How is she?’
‘Safe,’ Lorimer told her. It was perhaps the best thing he could say about Phyllis Logan. She was safe and well cared for as long as she remained in the clinic.
He recalled Maggie standing at the top of the stairs after he’d returned home, hugging her arms around her body as if she were shivering with the cold. She had asked the same question then promptly burst into tears when he’d told her it was all over.
‘Here comes Chrissie. We’d better go,’ the old lady told him. Lorimer helped her to her feet, handing her the walking stick as Chrissie marched along the path towards them.
‘Thank you, Chief Inspector. Thank you for everything,’ she whispered, leaning across to touch his cheek with her lips.
As the plane circled away from the island, Lorimer wondered if he would ever return. There was something about the place that he found beguiling. In some ways he envied Niall Cameron. It might have been his choice to work in Glasgow, but Lewis was still home. He’d been glad of his DC’s company today. It had made him feel less of an outsider. Niall had taken some leave. There were things he had to do, people he needed to see, he’d said. Lorimer suspected one of them might be a girl. His shyness whenever Kirsty’s name had been mentioned was merely a reminder of another lassie from home, he thought.
Then he considered Mhairi MacLeod, and her calm acceptance of all that had happened. If only they could all emulate that old lady’s wisdom.
This had affected so many lives. Maureen Baillie might never work again as a nurse, though he had a notion that she would be there until Phyllis Logan passed her final breath. Leigh Quinn was still there, too, watching over Phyllis as he and Sister Angelica had done during that troubled time since Kirsty’s death. Their partnership had been more than a bond of faith, they had kept watch over the MS patient, fearing for her life. Would this set Quinn back? Or would the incident give him a renewed confidence? Only time would tell.
His thoughts returned to Mrs Baillie. Who would have thought that the Director had spent so many years as the sick woman’s private nurse? She’d been fiercely protective of her relationship with Phyllis. And Solly had been right. Her cold manner had hidden a flawed, but caring, personality. Maybe time would heal her wounds, too.
Time, Lorimer thought. Time. Everything passed eventually. Even this year of Maggie’s would wind to a close. He smiled ruefully to himself. She wasn’t away yet and here he was trying to wish her back. Solly had said little when he’d told him about his wife’s decision, but he’d laid a friendly hand on his shoulder that Lorimer had found oddly comforting. Solly and Rosie were closer than ever these days.
He wished them luck. Rosie was just the balm to soothe any hurt the psychologist was feeling over his colleague’s revelations.
Two men were now in custody awaiting their fate. Would their cases ever come to trial, he wondered? Or would their acts be seen as some kind of sickness? Malcolm Docherty’s twisted sense of religion was a far cry from the faith he’d just witnessed down there, on that little patch of green that was fast disappearing into cloud.
And Tom Coutts? Solly could console himself that his final profile had not been so far out after all: a highly intelligent man with some sort of personal motive for murder. At least he had succeeded in unwinding the twists of those two threads that had bound their victims together for so long. And the last piece of the puzzle had come
